


Lux Facta Est

by temperamental_mistress



Series: A Shower of Sparks [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Canon Era, Gen, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 12:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11357601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temperamental_mistress/pseuds/temperamental_mistress
Summary: It was difficult for Jean Valjean to attend mass. Some Sundays were easier than others. The worst Sundays were those when he had no aches or pains or memories to distract him.





	Lux Facta Est

It was difficult for Jean Valjean to attend mass. Some Sundays were easier than others. When his knees acted up and old injuries remembered their pain, sitting, standing, and kneeling through a mass was hard on his old body. When the winter wind whipped at his face as he walked arm in arm with Cosette to give alms, his memories drifted from Toulon to his sister and her children and his heart ached. When he saw the elaborate dressings on the altar, the excess of the priests, he couldn't help but recall a humble home in the mountains and the circumstances that had driven him there. The worst Sundays were those when he had no aches or pains or memories to distract him. Somewhere between the Kyrie and Gloria, his attention would turn to Cosette. 

Since their departure from the convent, Cosette had only continued to grow into her beauty, though she still wore the mantle of youth comfortably. In the dark shadows of the church, it was easy to see how her light had grown as well. When he had first found her wandering in the woods, Valjean had mistaken the glow that surrounded the girl for misplaced moonlight, or his old eyes playing tricks on him. In their flight to Paris, he had been too concerned about their safety to take much notice of the light that forever followed her. Here in the pews, there was no denying that Cosette had inherited her mother's light. It highlighted the curves of her cheeks, the life in her eyes. It clung to her hair in a veil of fallen stars, a pearlescent glow that drew the gaze of any who could See. A small handful of other lights stood out among the congregants, but they were dim, flickering souls compared to Cosette. 

So often he was distracted by this light that he would forget to rise or kneel with the congregation. Cosette, believing that his knees were the cause, would offer her arm, collecting him and his wandering thoughts. They never stayed the path for long. 

He worried, at first, that Cosette had inherited her mother's spark as well as her light. He watched and he worried for some months, but there was never any sign of a stray spark. Her light always stayed neatly gathered around her like a cloak. 

Then he worried that she might have the Sight. It was more common in children of sparked parentage. This presented a new set of concerns. Did she know that he was sparked? He had taken the utmost care to ensure that she never saw him spark, but if she could see his light, it was only a matter of time before she pieced things together and thought to ask. She was a bright girl, after all. He could never quite put that worry to rest. 

One Sunday, he turned these worries over in his mind, all through mass, until they shone like polished buttons. Neither the mumbled prayers of those around him nor the pealing bells overhead could pull him away from his fears. He hardly noticed that Cosette had bundled him up and led him back to the street until she spoke. 

"I'm not sure how to feel about the homily this week..." she mused as they walked leisurely towards an area where they often gave alms. 

Valjean nodded absently. He had tuned out the priest when the usual tirade against the sparked and their innumerable sins had begun. He had heard it all before.

"I think it's wrong, the way the church speaks of the sparked," Cosette continued, her voice hushed beneath the chatter of the street. 

Now she had his attention as all his usual worries swelled to fill his chest. This was the moment he had most dreaded. She was growing too old, too smart to be turned away from the topic with a simple reassurance or a new doll. He did not miss the fact that the first beggar she knelt before was a sparked woman. 

"They cannot help being sparked. Surely they cannot be bad if God made them so," Cosette pressed a sous into the woman's hand. She smiled at her, and seemed to shine all the brighter. 

Valjean said nothing. How could he? It was safer if he never discussed the sparked with her, never gave her any reason to suspect. She took up his arm again and they resumed walking, but the concentration on her face was plain. They had nearly reached the gate to their garden when she spoke again.

"When I was very small, you once told me that every soul has both light and shadow, that the sparked have so much light that it overflows. You said that a man with sparks is no better or worse than a man without. It isn't our light that makes us good, but how we use what light we have. I think, perhaps, that is the truth."

He felt his soul pause as his body continued along the street. He remembered now, as they had travelled from Montfermeil, Cosette had been afraid. She had worried about the fate of her mother's soul, about the Thernardiers. The innkeeper had filled her head with terrible lies about the sparked and what awaited them in hell. He had comforted her with the only words he had - the same the Bishop had given him so many years before. 

"Papa?" Cosette turned to him, and the sun caught her brown hair, and lit up her eyes like stars. Somehow, though it always seemed impossible, she was brighter, more illuminated than before. 

He shook his head and smiled to reassure her. He could not say for certain that Cosette had no spark. He could not be sure that she didn't have the Sight, whether she knew he had sparks. The only thing he knew was that his dear Cosette was full of light, and that she would use it for good.


End file.
